


Cockeyed Moon

by charmed7293



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Debt, Drugged Sex, Everything Is The Worst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-27 13:49:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12583268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmed7293/pseuds/charmed7293
Summary: “Be reasonable, Jack.  It’s his birthday tonight.  Don’t you want him to have a nice birthday?”  Manny’s fake sweet voice dropped into a growl.  “Don’t you want to keep your job?”“Yes, I want to keep my job,” Jack bit out between clenched teeth.“Good.  And I want that attitude to go away.  As it is his birthday, I told my friend he could do something a little extra, so you better do everything he says.”  As Manny spoke, he got closer and closer to Jack until he was right in his face.  “Now change and get that tight, little ass to the VIP booth.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this literally years ago, in a conversation about the worst things we could make happen. This is what I came up with. Let me know if I need to add any tags . Part two will/should be posted tomorrow.
> 
> Happy Halloween!

Digging his fingernails into the plastic covering on the back of the chair, Jack winced in pain as Aster tightened the laces on his corset. He hated this routine with a passion because of the ridiculous outfit. Well, he hated every routine, really, but this one especially. He was just too bony for a corset and not being able to breath properly made it hard to dance.

“Hold still,” Aster said gruffly, giving the laces a rough tug.

Jack squeaked as air was forced from his lungs. “I _can’t_. You know how much I hate this stupid thing.”

“I do know. I also know you _are_ capable of keepin’ still from that candlewax scene.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not such a huge fan of getting burned, which would have happened if I moved at all, basically. Also, I was handcuffed to a chair, not like I had much of anywhere I could go.”

Aster grunted in amusement and focused his full attention on his task. Jack sighed—or tried to, at least, seeing as the corset was already too tight to do that properly—and dropped his head down. Working at the Cockeyed Moon wasn’t exactly his dream job, but it covered his daily expenses and paid off those loan sharks who had come looking for his dad after he had ran off—undoubtedly to get away from all the money he owed and thus leaving Jack to deal with the debt. Jack knew he had a pretty face and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to use that to his advantage somehow. He just always thought that would entail an occasional flirty smile or hand on a knee, not a revealing outfit and a suggestive dance routine.

“How are my lovely ladies doing?” a slimy voice crowed. All heads turned toward the door to the dressing room, toward the owner of the club. Manny leaned in the doorway, hands clasped in front of him.

“Almost ready I hope?” Manny asked sweetly, before dropping the act in favor of a brusque, “You better be. You’re on in five minutes.”

The dressing room turned into a bustle of activity as everyone hastily finished lacing corsets, strapping on heels, and applying lipstick. Jack bit his lip. He had been in the scene before this, so there hadn’t been a lot of time to get ready for this one. He still had to do his makeup and put on the rest of the costume, but his corset wasn’t even fully on yet.

Glancing over his shoulder, he motioned for Aster to hurry the fuck up. He didn’t want to be bumped from the scene and lose out on all the potential tips.

“I’m not gonna rush this and you’re not right in the head if you think I will,” Aster said.

“It’s already cut off enough oxygen, so, yeah, maybe I’m a little brain damaged. Pleasssse,” Jack hissed as Manny drew closer, calmly inspecting final preparations.

“Sittin’ this one out is better than cracked ribs.”

Jack growled in frustration. He knew Aster was right, but Manny would chew him out for not being ready fast enough and listening to him would just be a pain.

“Okay,” Manny called out, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention, “line up at the door!”

“Shit,” Jack muttered under his breath. He was going to get an earful.

“Except you, Jack,” Manny said lowly as he approached. “Aster, go direct the _girls_ onto stage. I need a private word with Jack here.”

As Aster walked away, Jack pushed off the chair so he could stand up straight and tower over Manny’s rather short stature, summoning what was left of his dignity.

“I can’t help but notice you’re not ready yet,” Manny began.

“No,” Jack deadpanned. He had long ago learned that rambling excuses did nothing when talking with Manny.

“Normally that would be a problem and there would be some kind of penalty, but tonight . . . it actually works out quite well.”

“Why?” Jack asked suspiciously. If this was going where he thought it was going…

“Well, you see, my friend is back in town—”

“Absolutely not,” Jack said firmly, horror building in him slowly, though he did his best not to show it. “I would rather you send me home right now. I told you last time was the _last time_.”

“Be reasonable, Jack. It’s his birthday tonight. Don’t you want him to have a nice birthday?” Manny’s fake sweet voice dropped into a growl. “Don’t you want to _keep your job_?”

Jack stayed silent, actually debating that question. He had “serviced” Manny’s “friend” before and had considered quitting that first time, too, when Manny told him to go have sex with the customer in the VIP booth. But then he had been _really_ strapped for cash and it had promised a nice bonus, so he had sucked it up and went for it. All things considered, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. The guy wasn’t too much of a looker, but he was clean, had used lube and a condom, and liked to be in control, so all Jack had to do was lie there and take it.

Now, every time this “friend” came for a visit, Manny approached him and made the same offer— _demand_ , really—and Jack had no say in the matter. While it wasn’t _terrible_ , it wasn’t exactly enjoyable. Jack preferred to have sex with people he actually chose himself, but that didn’t matter in this case. He couldn’t survive without this job, as much as he would enjoy storming out after telling Manny to stuff it.

“Yes, I want to keep my job,” he bit out between clenched teeth.

“Good. And I want that attitude to go away. As it is his birthday, I told my friend he could do something a little extra, so you better do everything he says.” As Manny spoke, he got closer and closer to Jack until he was right in his face. “Now change and get that tight, little ass to the VIP booth.”

Manny swept away and disappeared through the door that led into the audience, making the music and cheering of the crowd momentarily louder. Jack let out the breath he had been holding and glanced around the mostly-empty dressing room, hoping no one had heard their altercation. Luckily, the cross-dressing number included nearly everyone, so only a handful of the burly guys who didn’t fit the theme or the corsets were left backstage. They were busy with their own preparations, though Aster did shoot him a look of concern. Jack threw on a smirk and grabbed his street clothes from their pile at his station, holding them up as an explanation. Shaking his head with an amused smile, Aster turned back to getting ready.

Just as he hoped, Aster had assumed he was changing into them because he got sent home, not because that’s what Manny’s friend wanted him wearing. Jack’s pretty sure that no one else even knows about Manny’s friend and all the times Jack has serviced him privately.

He twisted his arms behind his back and began to work at loosening the corset lacings. He had it off fairly quickly, always eager to get out of that torture device. Hanging it up, he stripped off the rest of his clothes, all bits of costumes from the club. After a few hours of tight latex and scratchy lace, the worn out softness of his jeans and hoodie was a welcome sensation.

Figuring it would be best to get this over with, Jack took a deep breath and pushed open the same door Manny had exited through. He plastered on a fake smile and weaved through tables to the far side of the club, ignoring the catcalls of regulars questioning where he thought he was going without saying hello. He briefly considered stopping at the bar for a drink, but he could feel Manny’s eyes on him and he would _not_ like that.

With one last breath to steel himself, Jack parted the golden VIP curtain and stepped into the circular booth.

“Ah, there you are. As beautiful as always.”

Jack tried to twist his face into something resembling a smile, though it was so dark in the booth it probably didn’t matter. “Nice to see you again, Pitch.”

As his eyes adjusted, Jack could see Pitch reclining on the wrap-around sofa, his ankle crossed on the opposite leg’s knee. His arm rested on the small table in the middle, a glass of scotch in hand. The ice cubes in the glass tinkled as Pitch swirled his drink.

“Please, have a seat.” Pitch gestured to the spot right next to him, but Jack perched on the edge of the far end of the sofa. Pitch gave him a look, his tone a bit harder as he said, “Closer.”

Barely containing a glare, Jack moved over until he was sitting about an arm’s length away from Pitch. That was close enough so he wouldn’t complain, but still far enough away for Jack to feel somewhat comfortable.

“How about a drink?”

“No.”

“What would you like? Some kind of cocktail, perhaps? Why don’t you just go order what you like and tell them to put it on my tab?”

“I don’t wa—”

“Really. I insist,” Pitch said forcefully, his dark look chasing Jack out of the booth.

He did not like where this was going at all. Pitch always offered him a drink and Jack usually refused, which Pitch allowed. Well, despite his current situation, he would never turn down free alcohol.

He felt Manny’s eyes back on him as he approached the bar and silently dared him to come say something. Jack would love to throw his “do everything my friend tells you to” right back in his face.

“You are serving tables tonight, Jack?” North, the bartender, asked as he stopped in front of Jack to mix a drink.

“Not tables.” Jack shrugged off North’s questioning look. “Just give me something strong. Something that’ll hit me fast.”

“I am not sure if I should be suspicious or concerned.”

“This is all under Manny’s orders, so probably both.” Jack smiled humorlessly.

The look North gave him as he drifted away to hand over the drink he had been mixing definitely leaned more on the side of concern. Trusting North to come up with something for him, Jack turned to survey the room, trying to appear casual, but really looking for Manny. He saw him standing over a table of regulars, closer than he had been before. As if he sensed Jack’s gaze, Manny looked up and locked eyes with him. He smiled widely and maliciously and Jack felt a shiver travel down his spine. No, he did not like this at all.

Whipping back around, Jack took to staring at the dark wood grain of the counter as he waited for his drink, doing his best to ignore the cold pit in his stomach.

“Jack, here is drink.”

He looked up to see North holding out a glass of bright blue liquid on the rocks. “Thanks, just put it on Mr. Black’s tab.”

“Very well.” This time, North’s look was definitely one of suspicion, though Jack knew it was directed at Pitch rather than himself.

He took the drink back to the entrance of the booth, pausing just outside to take a sip and steel himself. Fortified by the alcohol burning its way down to his stomach, he pushed aside the curtain once again. Pitch was just as Jack had left him, smirking serenely as Jack entered.

“There, was that so hard?” he asked.

“No,” Jack ground out.

“Don’t drink it all now, I still have something to tell you.”

Jack reminded silent as he sat back down, taking another sip despite Pitch’s words.

Pitch continued talking, undaunted by Jack’s actions. “Manny must have mentioned today is my birthday?” He paused long enough to allow Jack time to nod. “Good, then you must know he promised me something extra.”

“Yes…” Jack confirmed warily.

“Wonderful. I’m about to tell you what I want you to do, but I did want to take the time to assure you no permanent harm will come to you.”

The pit in Jack’s stomach froze over. He tried to keep his breathing under control so he didn’t reveal his fear, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from darting around the room, looking for an escape he knew he wouldn’t find.

Pitch chuckled rather darkly. “No need to be so nervous. You hardly have to do anything at all.”

Keeping his eyes on Jack, Pitch set his glass down and reached into his pocket, drawing out . . . something and keeping it concealed in his hand. Only when he moved his hand back to the table did he reveal what was hidden in his palm.

“What the hell?!” Jack said as he scrambled away at the sight of the tiny vial of clear liquid. It may be a more unconventional form, but he knew a drug when he saw it. Drugs were what took his dad away, mentally at first, and then physically as all that money he borrowed to afford his habit finally caught up to him. There was no way Jack was touching that stuff, knowing how badly it could fuck you up.

Pitch stared at him with a raised eyebrow. “I told you there would be no permanent effects or damage. Besides, you wouldn’t want me to tell Manny you refused to do as I said, on my birthday no less.”

“I don’t give two shits about your birthday—”

“But you do about this job, don’t you?”

Jack grit his teeth and glared viciously. He had already pushed aside his pride to answer a similar question once this night and he didn’t want to do it again.

Pitch smiled knowingly. “That’s what I thought. Now, come sit back down and allow me to explain.”

Jack cautiously reapproached Pitch and lowered himself gingerly back onto the sofa. He had been frightened before, but now he legitimately feared for his physical and mental well-being.

“Normally,” Pitch began, “when people go for something like this, they choose flunitrazepam, but I prefer to be a little more creative. You look a touch confused. Well, you would probably recognize that drug by its street name: roofies. Oh, but let me finish. This is GHB, very similar to rohypnol in that it has many of the same effects, though a less severe, in my opinion. In exchange, it has an additional effect that I find to be quite . . . tantalizing.”

Jack looked at Pitch in horror, unable to believe the words coming out of his mouth. “You want me to drug myself? There’s no way you’re serious.”

“I never joke, Jack. You know the conditions of our agreement—”

“I never _agreed_ to anything!”

“By accepting Manny’s offer and coming into my booth that very first time you did. You knew what you were getting yourself into. You’re desperate for money. Why else would you be working here in the first place, never mind come to me again and again? And I know how the oh-so- _very_ desperate people act, willing to do anything to get what they need, so I know you will do what I tell you. The question you have to ask yourself is would you rather stay here with me and make an extra thousand dollars to add to your measly paycheck . . . or go tell Manny you couldn’t go through with it and get fired?”

Pitch punctuated his little speech by smirking and prying the stopper from the bottle. He leaned forward the poured the liquid into Jack’s drink. “Make your choice.”

Jack glared at Pitch. It wasn’t a choice at all. Pitch was right, about everything, but especially that Jack would do whatever he said because he needed the money.

Keeping the eye contact, Jack reached for his drink. His fingers brushed against the cold glass and flinched away, but he forced them to wrap around it. Bringing it to his lips, he took a deep drink. It tasted the same, the alcohol and mixer covering up any flavor the drug might have had. Thoughts of the drug made him shudder and he had to put his drink down, unable to continue.

“Good boy,” Pitch praised and Jack felt even sicker. “You’ll start to feel the effects of the drug in about 15 minutes, so finish your drink quickly.”

Jack wasn’t sure if the fuzziness descending upon his mind was due to the vodka or the GHB and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to welcome it or fight it. He didn’t get much of a choice as Pitch pressed the glass back into his hand. Reluctantly drinking from it again, he downed half of what was left in one gulp, pausing a moment before tipping back the rest as well. He set the glass back down with shaking hands.

“There! All done,” Pitch said. “And now you don’t have to do anything at all.”

Pitch gripped his chin and turned his head so he was facing him. As Pitch tilted his head left and right, Jack kept his eyes trained on Pitch’s face.

“Hmmm, doesn’t seem to have taken effect yet. I can be patient a while longer.”

Jack jerked his face away from Pitch and continued to back away across the booth.

“You’re sick,” he spat, glaring fiercely despite being cornered.

“Maybe so,” Pitch said calmly, “but I don’t really care about what others—least of all you—think. I only care about getting what I want. And what I want is you, drugged and completely unresisting.”

“ _Why_?” Jack asked. His eyes flicked to the curtain, making the room spin.

“I’ve stopped questioning my proclivities long ago, Jack. It’s much easier that way.”

“And this is this one of your ‘proclivities?’ Fucking drugging somebody!?”

“The drugging comes before the fucking, but, yes, it’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. I decided it would be better to try it with someone to whom I could explain what was happening and avoid unnecessary panic.”

“You’re even sicker than I thought.”

Pitch only raised his glass in a mocking toast, draining it before putting it back down and staring off absentmindedly.

“Shouldn’t be too long now,” he said softly, voice barely a whisper.

Jack looked around the room again, which was proving difficult as it began to spin faster. Fuck it, fuck this! Nothing was worth this! He would rather the loan sharks take him out for not being able to pay than to give Pitch the satisfaction of doing this to him.

But if he was going to escape, he needed to do it soon. Where would he even go? The crowded club would only confuse his hazed mind further and he wasn’t sure who would even help him. So many regulars were friends with Manny and most likely knew Pitch as well, not that they really gave a damn about him anyway.

He could try to make it to the dressing room and get Aster to help him! He needed to do it now, before the drug made it impossible.

Jack pushed himself up and darted toward the curtain, but his legs gave out and he crashed to the floor. Reaching up with his arms, he tried to pull himself forward to crawl away, but his muscles weren’t responding. His fingers scrabbled uselessly against the sticky linoleum.

Pitch chuckled somewhere above him and a hand stroked through his hair. He flinched, but it ended up more of a twitch. Pitch gripped him under his armpits, hoisting him up and sending the room spinning into blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I was away from my laptop over the weekend and didn't have time until today to finish the last bit and give it one more read-over.

Jack felt his eyes moving rapidly behind his eyelids. He wanted to open them, but he was afraid his eyes would keep moving and then fall right out of his skull. He couldn’t lose his eyes! He needed those to count money and to dance and…and…

Dance! The club! He was supposed to be at work! Keeping his eyes tightly shut, he sat up and immediately regretted being alive.

His stomach lurched and his back protested the sudden movement with spikes of pain along his spine. He couldn’t concentrate on settling his stomach and the pain at the same time and—

“Shit!” a voice shouted.

Smooth plastic was pressed against his chin just before he vomited. It splattered against something hollow-sounding instead of on his legs, as he expected. Wrapping his arms around the bucket, he heaved again.

A hand awkwardly patted his back and he felt a surge of panic. Who was that? He needed to know, but he couldn’t open his eyes…

“Jack? You feeling better now?”

Aster. It was Aster. Jack let out a relieved sigh, resting his cheek on the edge of the bucket.

“Can you talk to me? What happened?”

Jack just moaned in annoyance and pain. He didn’t want to speak or move or even think.

“Okay, um, I’ll get you some water then?”

He heard the rustling of Aster’s clothes and his footsteps retreating. Glasses clinked, water flowed, and then the footsteps were returning.

“Here.”

Jack reached blindly for the glass of water, but only succeeded in grasping air.

“Why don’t you open your eyes? That’ll make this a whole lot easier,” Aster said, though he carefully guided Jack’s hand to the glass.

He rinsed his mouth and then took a tiny sip. “They’ll fall out.”

“What?”

“My eyes. They’ll fall out if I open them.”

“Um, I promise that won’t happen. Why would you even think that?”

Jack honestly didn’t have an answer for that, but he trusted Aster. He cracked his eyes open, just in case he did feel them slipping, but everything seemed fine. He opened them a bit more and took a look at his surroundings.

He was lying on a couch in a shabby-but-still-better-than-his-own apartment. A worn and stained carpet was all that separated the living room from the tiled kitchen, which was only a fridge, a rusty oven, and a hot plate.

“This your place?” he asked.

“Yeah. It’s not much, but at least I live alone.”

“What am I doing here, though?”

“Manny told me to bring you here.”

Jack slowly moved the bucket to the floor next to him and lay back down, resting his head on a nearly-flat pillow. “Why?”

“I was hoping you could tell me that.”

Jack looked up at Aster. Usually his face was rather expressionless; it was just something that happened in their line of work after a certain amount of time. They learned to shove down all their real emotions of contempt and disgust and show the customers what they wanted to see. Aster was one of the best when it came to faking emotions, but Jack could tell the concern and worry on his face was very real.

“Clearly not,” he said, snorting. Maybe if he covered up his slowly growing horror with sarcasm he could even fool himself.

“What do you remember of last night?”

“I was at work. You couldn’t tie my corset fast enough. I didn’t go on…” Jack trailed off, thinking.

“And then Manny sent you home,” Aster supplied, but that didn’t seem right.

“No, he-he didn’t. I know I was still there.” Jack rubbed at his temples, trying to relieve his still throbbing headache. It wasn’t helping him think around the huge gap in his memories.

Manny had talked to him, but it wasn’t to tell him to go home. It was…it was…to meet Pitch! The only reason Manny would willingly interact with Jack would be to send him to Pitch. He was probably the reason he couldn’t remember anything, though it didn’t take much imagination to fill in the gaps. He also liked seeing Jack in street clothes, so Aster must have seen him in them and assumed he was going home.

He couldn’t tell Aster the truth, though. While Jack had no doubt other guys at the club slept with customers for extra money, it was kept after hours and out of the club for the most part. Word of that kind of thing happening inside would spread quickly and draw investigations, unveiling some of the other not-so-legal activities that Manny was engaged in. Jack was sure those were more lucrative and important to Manny than whatever extra business he could get by essentially becoming a brothel.

Aster sure as hell wouldn’t report anything and risk his job along with everyone else’s, but Jack didn’t want to him put on Manny’s shit-list for entangling himself in this.

“It’s nothing,” he said softly.

“Manny told me that I was to bring you home and keep an eye on you, but under no circumstances was I to bring you to the hospital. And you expect me to believe it was nothing?”

“Yes.” Jack stared up at Aster, pleading with his eyes.

Aster stared right back, face impassive. Several moments passed before he sighed. “Fine. I trust you know what you’re dealing with.”

“Of course.”

* * *

 

That was a blatant lie. Jack had never felt more out of his depth. He had finally convinced Aster to let him go back to his own apartment to shower, on the condition that he stay home from work that night.

Jack had absolutely no intention of doing that, especially after he realized the only money from the club he had was his usual tips. There was no unmarked envelope of crisp $20 bills that Pitch usually gave him. Jack may not know what exactly Pitch did to him last night, but he sure as hell didn’t go through it to not get paid.

Besides, what would he do just sitting at home? Come to terms with…with…

No, that wasn’t an option. He needed to keep moving, keep himself distracted.

When he walked into the dressing room, Aster’s face twisted in anger. He threw down the armful of clothes he had been carrying and disappeared further into the back. Jack sighed. He did feel a bit guilty for lying, but he _needed_ that money. Aster would understand if he knew the truth of the whole situation, but he just couldn’t tell him.

It was still before opening hours, so Jack headed out to the front to help set up the tables and chairs. He kept to himself, as always, but he could feel Manny’s eyes on him. Jack had a feeling he knew exactly what had happened last night and would take great delight in tormenting Jack with the possibilities, so he quickly found something else to do when he sensed Manny approaching.

One such retreat led him to stacking glasses behind the bar, which turned out to be a very bad idea as it left him with no escape.

“Ja~ack. One would you think you’re trying to avoid me, running off like you’ve been doing.”

“Just a dedicated worker,” Jack responded simply, refusing to turn to even look at Manny.

“Oh, you certainly are dedicated to your work,” Manny drawled, amusement tinging his tone. “You even go above and beyond, some would say. Doing anything that’s asked of you…”

Jack knew Manny was baiting him,  _knew it_ , but he would much rather take it now than to listen to it all night. The satisfaction Manny would get out of his quick response was nothing compared to the torment the other option would bring.

“And what exactly was asked of me last night?” Jack asked, his jaw clenched, still not turning from the glasses.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Manny said in an affected tone. “Could you speak up? Or perhaps if you actually looked at me while speak—”

Jack whirled around, stepping forward so he was towering over Manny. “ _What the fuck did he do to me_?”

Manny didn’t flinch. He only smirked. “Why don’t you ask him yourself? He’ll be here tonight. Early, at six. Just to see you, Jack. I don’t think I have to tell you where. You should know by now.”

Jack had heard enough. It took nearly everything in his power to set the glass still in his hands on the counter instead of hurling it at Manny’s face. He stalked across the club to the dressing room door, ignoring Manny’s delighted cackling.

He had less than an hour to mentally prepare himself for this. Well, he already felt numb, so he should just focus on burying his feelings. He sat at his station, curled up in the chair as people bustled around him, too distracted preparing for the opening number to notice he wasn’t helping. Usually, he would take part in it, but he knew Pitch would be waiting for him. Besides, the thought of going out and dancing while knowing Pitch was watching made him feel sick—well, sicker than he already felt.

Staring at himself in the mirror, he wondered how he got here. Despite his rough home life, he had been doing well. He had gotten good grades in high school and had been the top player on the hockey team. He had been headed toward scholarships and college and putting his past behind him when his dad had fucked him over and left him with this unimaginable debt. Sometimes, he wished he had left with his mom and sister, but he knew they never would have made it if his mom had to take care of two children. Not to mention that, at the time, he had still believed he could help his dad turn things around. Well, that had gone to shit and he had ended up here and things were going to shit _again_ , when he already thought he was the lowest he could possibly get.

He jumped as the music started, his body almost automatically twisting into the seductive poses from the beginning of the song.

Growling in frustration, he stood and slammed his palms against the mirror, looking himself hard in the eyes.

 _Stop being pathetic_ , they seemed to say. _Stop feeling sorry for yourself. That won’t keep you alive. Getting that money will. You’ve made your bed. Now lie in it._

With one last deep breath, Jack exited the dressing room, making his way to the VIP booth. He could almost remember doing the same thing last night: ignoring the beckons of customers, shoving down the disgust at Manny’s gleeful gaze that tracked him across the floor.

He stopped in front of the curtain, a shaking hand reaching up to pull it aside. He didn’t want to go in, but he remembered how his eyes looked in the mirror.

 _Nothing matters but that money. What happened last night will be_ **_nothing_ ** _compared to what the loan sharks will do to you if you can’t pay up._

Jack fisted his hand in the curtain and ripped it aside, keeping his gaze on the floor.

“Ah, Jack, it’s so very good to see you again. I hope our activities last night didn’t wear you out too much.”

Jack stepped into the booth, but only enough to let the curtain close behind him. He still didn’t look up. “I only want my money, Pitch.”

“Oh, my! Where are your manners. You were so calm and submissive last night…”

Jack’s hand twitched. While he more-or-less just laid there and took it when he serviced Pitch, he was still anything but “calm and submissive.”

“Did that touch a nerve?” Pitch practically purred.

Jack finally looked up. Pitch was smiling softly, looking supremely amused. He had his usual glass of scotch and Jack imagined he walked into the same scene last night. But there was something off. There was another drink on the small table. It was bright blue and made Jack’s stomach twist unpleasantly.

When it became apparent that Jack wasn’t going to say anything, Pitch reached into his coat pocket.

“I have your money,” he said, putting a stack of wrapped bills on the table. “One thousand, like I promised. However…”

He pulled out a second stack and set it next to the first.

“I have another thousand for you if you be good and come suck my cock while I tell you a story.”

Jack couldn’t take his eyes off the money. It was more than he’d ever seen at once in his life. And it could all be his. That…that would honestly be life changing. Pitch’s visits were never frequent enough for him to be able to save any money. Sometimes months passed between them and Jack was always desperate by the next time Pitch came around.

_Lie in your bed, Jack._

Still silent, he walked forward and slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of Pitch.

“Good choice.” Pitch undid his own belt and pants and pulled himself out, rolling on a condom. “Help yourself.”

Jack leaned forward and immediately took him into his mouth. This was far from the first time he had given a blowjob, much less to Pitch. This was nothing. He could do this. If he just went along with it, everything would be over soon.

Groaning in satisfaction, Pitch threaded his fingers through his hair, guiding his bobbing motions. “Now, I want you to listen to me and if you take your mouth off my cock before I finish then you won’t be getting _any_ of that money and I guarantee you Manny will be kicking your ass to the curb faster than you could tell us to go to hell. Understand?”

Jack just made a noise of acknowledgement, knowing that those rules started now.

“Good, very good. Maybe this is a bit cliche, but…once upon a time, there was a young man who was very happy. He had a nice little house in the suburbs and a perfect young son and his gorgeous wife was about to have a beautiful baby girl.”

No…

“They were a bit generic, sure; two-point-five kids, a nine-to-five job, the picket-fenced house in the suburbs…all that was missing was a dog. But the young man was very happy—or at least he told himself he was. Deep inside, he truly felt quite empty and bored. He longed for something to fill that gap and bring him some excitement.”

Jack was already having a difficult time breathing with Pitch’s cock down his throat, but it was becoming even more difficult as he realized what (or rather who) exactly this story was about. Pitch’s hand still gripping his hair was the only thing keeping his head moving.

“So he started to look for that something. At first, nothing he tried worked. There were poker nights with coworkers, but eventually even betting real money wasn’t satisfying anymore. He went skydiving once, but the excitement only lasted during his time in the air. Alcohol no longer had any effect. And then his baby girl was born. The young man remembered the happiness he had felt when his son was born and thought he would feel that again and it would save him. But instead she just felt like a burden. Taking care of her was a drain on his time that he could be spending searching.”

Pitch paused for a second, breath hitching and hand tightening in Jack’s hair. Maybe Jack could get him to come before he finished the story, but he would have to put more effort in on his part and he didn’t think he could stomach that right now.

Once it seemed Pitch had regained control of himself again, he continued, “By now, his wife was more concerned than ever and seemed to follow his every move, constantly reminding him he had two children who needed a father. That only made it worse and the young man almost lost all hope. That is until he found someone in whom he could confide, someone who promised to help him with all his problems. That person was truly a god amongst men, for being so charitable.”

It didn’t take much to infer that Pitch was speaking about himself. Jack’s stomach churned with nausea. His father had known Pitch? And judging by the timeline…

“That person gave the young man some wonderful thing that made him feel whole again. At first, it was wonderful. He got his little escape and that made it easier to go back to his family and pretend everything was fine. But eventually those stopped being enough. Again, that person was there for the young man and gave him more wonderful things, but for a price this time. The young man was happy to pay, however.”

He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to hear that the person who was ruining his life at the moment was the same person who ruined it to begin with. He just wanted to run, run out of the booth, the club, this life. But the money, that fucking money.

“I think you know the rest of the story from there, Jack. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see you, the precious little son, working here. And, since I am so very charitable, I decided to help you out as well.”

Jack just glared up, hoping his eyes conveyed all of his vicious hate. Pitch thrust his hips up roughly, making Jack squeeze his eyes shut as he choked around his cock.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. You would surely be cold and dead if it weren’t for my help. Isn’t your continued existence worth spending an hour or two with me every few months?”

At this point, Jack was very sure it wasn’t. Needing to get out of there, he forced himself to move his head independently of Pitch’s hand.

“Last time I was even kind enough to let you forget what happened, since you seem to hate me so much. Wasn’t that so much better? I can certainly say that it was for me. I had wanted to try that for a very long time. Oh, but you must be curious what exactly ‘that’ is. Allow me to tell you.”

Jack’s heart started pounding faster. There was no way he could make Pitch finish before he continued talking. There was no way he could tell him to stop.

“I had you get yourself a drink…and then I put a little something special in it,” Pich said, words interspersed with muffled grunts as Jack started using his tongue. “In the simplest terms…it’s a sister drug of roofies. It made you nice and compliant and… _receptive_. Well, only after you drank it…with full knowledge of what it was, mind you.”

A shudder wracked his body. That was…this was…so fucked up…

He barely had time to process anything before Pitch gripped his hair, holding his head down, and thrust up into his mouth with a growl, spilling into the condom.

As soon as Pitch’s grip loosened, Jack pulled back and leaned to the side, coughing. Sure, he may not have actually had to swallow, but just the thought of it was enough to make him the nausea worse. Not to mention how much his throat was aching now.

He was vaguely aware of Pitch taking care of the condom and putting himself away. He dragged himself into a sitting position in time to see Pitch stand up gracefully, rolling his shoulders. He started down his nose at Jack.

“I leave you with a choice, Jack. This lovely drink is the same as you had last night, right down to my special little touch.” Pitch pushed the glass forward on the table. It was so luminescent that it almost burned Jack’s eyes to look at. “You can drink it again and not remember anything that I’ve told you come morning. Would not knowing help you sleep better at night? Maybe you would just be tormented by that void in your mind instead.”

Pitch paused, smiling softly. Jack wished he had the strength to stand so he could punch him in his fucking smug face.

“Your other option is to not drink it, of course, and remember everything. There would be no doubt and wondering, but would that only make it more painful?”

Pitch grabbed the stacks of money, ripping off the rubber bands.

“Thank you for your services, Jack,” he said, letting bills slip from his fingers and rain down on Jack. “I’ll be sure to come up with something extra _fun_ for our next meeting.”

Jack couldn’t even watch as Pitch exited the VIP booth, leaving him alone. He numbly started to pick the money up from the floor, moving quickly before someone came in to clean. He shoved it all into the pocket of his sweatshirt without bothering to count it. He just wanted to get out of here.

He needed to process what Pitch had told him and he couldn’t do that here—but wait. Did he even need to? He had another option, another choice.

Standing, he stumbled a bit from the headrush. He stared at the drink on the table.

Sure, this was a choice that actually meant something, but he still didn’t pick the options. He should be choosing his college, a major, which hockey team to sign with, not…not _this_.

It had really been laughable to think he ever had any control over his situation.

 _Pitch_ had made Jack’s bed long ago and now he was left with only one choice: to sleep in it or lie awake forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought!


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